He pushed himself up on one elbow, his face pale beneath the flush of cold on his cheeks. “It’s fine. Just caught myself on something sharp.” But his voice held a strained quality that showed he was anything but fine.
She brushed snow away from the rocky outcropping he’d fallen against, revealing a jagged edge of stone that jutted up like a blade. The sight of it made her stomach clench—he could have been hurt so much worse.
“Your leg.” She reached toward the torn, bloody fabric. But the angle of his knee was likely the worst of the injuries. “Do you think it’s broken?”
James tried to shift his weight, testing the injured leg, and his sharp intake of breath told her what she needed to know.
“It might be.” His jaw clenched as he attempted to bend the knee. “Hard to tell with all the snow.”
Rose’s hands shook as she brushed more of the white powder away from his leg. A tear in his trousers revealed a gash several inches long, and something wet gleamed against the dark wool. Blood. Blood seeping steadily into the snow now.
She had to get him help, and quickly. She looked up at his horse, trying to think. How could she possibly get him onto his horse in this condition? They certainly couldn’t walk. The distance to the ranch house stretched an impossible distance away. Should she leave him here and go for help?
No. Abandoning him alone in this cold would be worse than trying to move him.
“Rose.” His voice was steadier now, though she could see the pain etched in the lines around his eyes. “Help me stand. I can ride if you can get me up.”
Every instinct screamed against moving him, but what choice did they have? Her mind raced through possibilities, each one worse than the last.
“Just bring my horse here. I can ride back to the house.” His voice sounded a little stronger.
If only his horse weren’t so immense. “Belle.” Rose glanced toward the mare. “She’s shorter than your gelding. Easier to mount.”
James nodded. Sweat beaded on his forehead despite the cold. “She’s steadier too.”
Rose hurried to Belle, then led the mare closer to where James sat propped against the rocky outcropping. Each step felt clumsy, her hands trembling as she gripped the reins. What if she couldn’t get him home? What if his leg was broken so badly that moving him made it worse?
She pushed the thoughts away. They had no choice but to try.
“Easy, girl.” She positioned Belle as close as possible to James. Once Rose halted her, the mare stood perfectly still, as though she sensed the gravity of the situation.
Blood had soaked through more of James’s trouser leg now, a black ring against the brown wool. Her stomach twisted, but she forced herself to focus on what needed to be done. “Can you put weight on it at all?”
James braced his hands against the rocky outcropping and shifted. His sharp hiss twisted her insides.
“Some.” His voice came out tight. “Enough to mount, I think.”
She moved to his good side, ducking under his arm to wedge her shoulder there. The solid weight of him pressed against her, warm and familiar even now. She could feel the tension in every muscle, the way he held himself rigid against the pain.
“On three.” She tried to sound more confident than she felt. “One, two?—”
James pushed up from the ground with his arms while she lifted, and somehow they managed to get him standing. He swayed against her, his breathing harsh in the cold air, but he was standing.
Getting him into the saddle proved even more challenging. Belle stood rock-still while Rose positioned herself to give James the most support, but each movement sent tremors through his body that radiated into her own bones. The sharp catch of his breath when his injured leg brushed against the stirrup made her stomach clench.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered as he gripped the saddle with white knuckles.
“Not…your…fault.” The words came out through gritted teeth, but he managed a strained smile that reminded her so much of her childhood friend that her throat tightened.
Once he was finally settled, she gathered his gelding’s reins and mounted quickly.
Now they just had to get back to the house before James passed out from the pain.
CHAPTER 18
The worst part wasn’t the throbbing in James’s leg or the way the wooden walking sticks dug into his armpits with every step—it was the way everyone looked at him like he might shatter.
His left leg throbbed with a steady pulse that matched his heartbeat, the splint heavy and awkward beneath his torn trousers. Doc Morrison had come yesterday and done his usual thorough work—seventeen stitches to close the gash, a proper splint fashioned from pine boards and leather straps to immobilize the break just above his knee. The laudanum had dulled the worst of the pain, but it also turned his thoughts to molasses and made him sleep through most of the daylight hours like an invalid.
